


i wish that the good outweighed the bad

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Betty's self harm escalates, Jughead is there to calm her.





	i wish that the good outweighed the bad

**Author's Note:**

> tiny little itty bitty short ficcy.

Alice's steely glare is all Betty can picture as she lays in her bed. Her hands are shaking and her legs are tingling in a weird way she's never experienced before. Her anxiety clouds her thoughts as she can feel herself clenching her fists shut.

_What will they think?_

But she can't stop. Her eyes unwillingly search out her window, and she can see Archie's shoulder _just_. In a lapse of judgement, she stands and stumbles toward her curtains, leaving small red streaks where she touches, and pulls them closed.

Alice's eyes, her cold eyes, telling her what to do. Always ordering her, expecting so much, blaming her for everything. Her fists clench tighter, and it stings, it stings so much. Her hands are hot and sweaty from being clenched shut, and it makes the small moon-crescents on her palms burn.

She inhales harshly, feeling like the air she takes in isn't enough. Her lungs, they need to be full, so she breathes in as hard as she can, and again, and again.

Still standing and beginning to hyperventilate, Betty becomes dizzy. She wanders to her bed, stumbling like a drunk man, and falls onto her side, body hitting the mattress.

All her instincts are telling her to call Jughead, to ask him to come over, to kiss her hands like he did in the diner. But she's scared, and ashamed, because her hands are clenched so tightly her arms are shaking, but it still doesn't feel like enough.

Her breathing calms, but her thoughts do not.

She releases her fists and stares at her flat palms, covered in smudged blood, light red. Briefly, she realises this is the deepest her nails have gone. She furls her fingers in, inspecting the blood under her nails. The movement makes her palms sting again.

Her eyes, wide, search her hands, wondering why she feels she needs more. And debating what _more_ could be. Her breath catches in her throat for a moment, scared for herself; scared _of_ herself.

Before she can think, she digs her left thumb nail into the side of her right wrist, hard enough to make an imprint, but not enough to bleed. The nerves under her skin make her fingers twitch, and she makes a small sound as she releases herself.

She stares at the imprint, watching the skin around it turn pink. It feels like a bruise, and her eyes tear up. That wasn't better, it wasn't _more_.

Betty's eyes wander to the drawers in the desk, under the mirror. She walks over slowly, hands shaking slightly. Opening the drawer, she pushes the tampons and makeup wipes aside until she finds what she needs.

A pink razor.

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection, razor in hand, tears in eyes. She tries blinking them away, but when she looks down a few escape. Looking at the razor, she debates the best way to remove the blades.

_Tap._

Her head snaps to her window, and she falls entirely silent. She barely breathes, her heart caught in her throat. Perhaps it was the wind, or something hitting against her window.

_Tap. Tap._

She holds her breath, waiting for further sounds.

"Betty?" Comes a hushed voice, "It's Jughead. Are you there?"

Not being able to stop herself, she responds, "Yeah. One second."

She places the razor on her table and fumbles for a makeup wipe to clean the blood off her hands, lest Jughead see. She's panicking, hands shaking and weak, she can barely open the package.

"The window's unlocked, I'm coming in." Jughead says. The sound of the glass sliding up fills the room.

"No!" Betty rushes, fumbling with the package. There's blood getting on the plastic, not much, but it's recognisable. Tears fill her eyes again. _Crybaby_ , she thinks.

It's too late, Jughead pulls open the curtains before she can make herself ready. She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands, smudges of mascara streaking her pale skin.

"Woah, woah, Betty." Jughead rushes over to her, sitting on the ground beside the open drawer. She immediately bursts into tears, and Jughead grabs her hands.

"I'm sorry." She apologises, she doesn't know what for. Disappointing him, maybe, or not being good enough.

He hushes her gently. "It's fine, it's okay, you don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I'm a mess." She says quietly, not meeting his eyes. Her hands are curled closed so he can't see the blood, but he opens them. He gasps softly, and it only makes the tears run more smoothly.

"What happened, Betty?" He asks, so earnestly, so softly. A tear runs down her cheek as she finally meets his eyes.

"It's so stupid." She replies, realising it's silly to get so worked up over an argument with your mother. Even if her eyes were cold and dead to her.

"Hey, hey." Jughead says, moving his head lower to meet her eyes, his lip quirks up slightly. "If it made you do _this,_ I can assure you it isn't stupid."

She lets out a single, breathy _ha_ , and looks away. "My mom."

With that, Jughead puts his arms around her neck. He smells like cologne, one probably advertised as 'leather scent'. She pushes her face into the crook of his collar. His arms are strong, holding her tight, making her feel safe.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He says, releasing her, smiling so softly she can't help smiling back.

Somehow, without even knowing what she was about to do, Jughead stopped her. He wrapped her up and held her tight and made her forget about the razor on her desk. He, with barely any words, cheered her up and made her the happiest she felt all day.

"I love you." She tells him, and she means it.

Her feelings, the darkness. They never leave, but when she's alone they feel magnified tenfold. All she can hope for is to avoid loneliness, the suffocating pink of her walls; to be distracted is to be normal.


End file.
